anto 🌀

Five months.

151 days.

One hundred fifty-one— that was how long you’d been living in hell.

You could barely remember how it all started. Your mind struggled to piece together the absurdity of it all.

It was absurd. Completely unbelievable, in fact.

Your life had always been quiet, simple, and easy.

Living in your small town, taking the bus every morning at 6:30 sharp for college. Spending the time between lessons and lunch with your boyfriend and friends. The comfort of your bed when you finally rested at night.

It was never perfect for you. Often, you wasted all your time in bed, staring at the ceiling even when you had those rare moments of freedom from what routine required.

Time flew, and you felt guilt for wasting yet another day.

You knew it was pointless to be so harsh on yourself. Your mental health was surely not the best- hadn't been in a long time, which only contributed more to that endless spiral you often got sucked into.

You didn’t do that on purpose, after all.

Yet, looking back now? Oh, how you would give anything to spend even just one more day in that life.

Routine had been what kept you going. You were not 14 anymore. You had responsibilities, people you couldn’t give up so easily— Tobias. That was truly what kept you going.

You kept being functional, holding your personal burdens to yourself. You felt lost without it.

If weekends and free time were just a momentary loss from your anchor, something passing that would’ve been over by Monday, your current situation felt like a death sentence. Final.

You weren’t sure when this would all end— or if there would even be an ending at all.

All you knew was that your stability had been taken, and it had taken a harsh toll on you.

The world had become unrecognizable. All those things that had once seemed so granted— food, clean water— were now a rarity.

You mourned your old life. There wasn’t one day you passed without indulging in a bitter, mean nostalgia.

Couldn’t stand the stench of those creatures. How nobody— not even those politicians who claimed to love their people— seemed to do anything. They were leaving you to die. People were dying and turning into those violent, brain-dead creatures, and no one seemed to care.

You felt utterly hopeless and lost. And you were sure it was those rich who had caused it all to begin with.

The news had always stated, back when everything began, that some sort of biohazard had happened in a lab built not long time prior near your city.

Every single person you saw was saying not to worry, claiming it was just a minimal incident that would be easily contained.

The lab was linked to your college and used by students, so it was only natural that people trusted it. How could they not?

But then weird things started to happen.

Many shepherds and pastoralists began reporting their animals acting strangely.

At first, it was as if the animals were catatonic— a newspaper stated— but then they began to fall seemingly dead to the ground, weird liquids leaking from their mouths. The animals had started to smell rotten and then became aggressive. Feral.

The first case reported was that of a sheep trying to bite the pastor so hard the man stated he felt as if the animal was actually ripping his leg off.

But then things took a completely different turn.

A couple of weeks after the attack, the shepherd had started to feel sick.

Media and doctors tried to keep the general commotion low, stating it was probably some possible sickness due to the animal’s bite. Some common bacteria, perhaps.

Your boyfriend’s sister, Lyra, was actually one of the trainee students working at the lab at the time.

She’d always been skeptical, and you often discussed the case with her.

Tobias had always been quite pragmatic— or rather, didn’t want to add any more worries to himself. He dismissed you as a ‘conspiracy theorist’ and left the room, rolling his eyes whenever you two began ganging up on him for apparently ‘not seeing what they were doing right before his eyes’.

Yet Lyra saw more than anyone else could, and she saw with clarity.

One of the few things you could still recall clearly was one night, as she’d called Toby in a shaky, urgent voice.

You were there with him right when it happened.

“We’re being taken into quarantine. The shepherd guy’s gone mad. I don’t even know what it is, Tobes! He seems like a corpse. We were called urgently, thought we lost him, but then he woke up and began attacking the staff in the operating room…”

“Wh–what the fuck do you mean? I’m coming right now, Lyra. I’ll— fuck it! I’ll pick you up. I don’t like this one bit”.

“NO! Toby, please, for once in my life, you have to listen to me. I’ll kill you myself— and be very angry— if you come here!”

He’d stopped right on his tracks as Lyra sighed heavily on the other end of the phone.

“Nobody’s allowed in or out. The lab’s completely shut… I don’t know what’s happening, and I don’t know how this will evolve…”

Lyra’s voice began glitching, the line on her side getting weaker.

“— just as a precaution— take some supplies… y/n too— are they with you?— ”

Her voice was cut off by a loud, metallic sound before a series of beeps began to ring.

“F-fuck!”

After that, the problem got way too out of hand to be dismissed.

Everyone began talking about some yet-to-be-cleared infection that seemed to turn people into the fucking undead.

From what was reported, the infection spread through bites, saliva, and contact with blood. It seemed to especially attack the nervous system. It was capable, among other effects, of damaging and enlarging the brain– so much as to rip the tissues apart, like a slice of meat. The damage was so terrifyingly vast that even the cranium grew deformed by the brain’s anomalous mass, making the infected’s heads take on a sort of swollen, inflated appearance.

The amygdala and prefrontal cortex’s tissues were among the first areas affected, leading to impulsivity and aggression. Neurotransmitters and hormones became unbalanced. Synapses were disrupted.

Cognitive abilities were significantly reduced, alongside the senses. Sight was the one that suffered the most damage, as the infected were almost completely blind, only apparently seeing the world around them as shadows.

Smell was the only sense that seemed rather intact.

Speech was almost entirely compromised.

That was the last thing Lyra was able to tell you both—the last you’d heard from her—before there was a breach in the containment chamber where the shepherd had been detained.

They’d been able to study him in the isolated room until one researcher had gotten infected as well. Apparently, another viral strain was airborne, spreading alarmingly fast and wide, infecting masses of people all at once. Too bad it was discovered at the poor researcher’s expense.

After that, it’d been almost instant for the virus to spread. Lyra couldn’t escape either.

There had been a count of the possible infected, a list spread around to see if anyone knew the people involved, and Lyra Rogers was estimated among them.

She’d gone radio silence ever since that last call, where she’d informed you both of the new, still-secret information about the once newly infected man. Deep down, you’d known for a long time that something bad had happened to her.

To say Toby was in pieces would’ve been an understatement. He’d always been incredibly attached to his sister, and feeling so helpless, useless, and unable to rescue her from the hell she’d been trapped in was fucking frustrating in ways he’d never thought he’d know.

“I’m going there”.

A pause.

He slowly turned to face you, grabbing his jacket. You’d moved to his place ever since this all started. There were still no public cases reported, but your city was in a constant state of tension— a stillness in the air, similar to the thick pall you feel before a terrible, devastating storm.

“I’m going to rescue Lyra. I can’t— I can’t leave her there any longer. I need to know- to see she’s okay”.

“Toby, you know she told you not to—”

“I know what she fucking said!” He hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t— didn’t mean to raise my voice. It’s just… this is killing me. I need to see her. That’s all I need right now”.

You stared at him as if he’d spoken an alien language. His eyes were dulled out, exhausted, circled by purple-tinged tissue. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days— which, in fact, he hadn’t. Ever since you’d stopped receiving anything but silence from Lyra, he couldn’t function properly. Or rather, he functioned worse than he usually did.

You couldn’t complain. He was loving— a bit harsh sometimes, yet he adored and cared for you a lot. But he was like a mine, ready to explode at the smallest thing. Impulsive. Moody. Unpredictable.

This had all grown worse after the incident.

“Okay… but I’m coming with you”.

You stated it as a fact, and he groaned.

“The hell you are”.

“I won’t let you go alone”

He frowned, a loud sigh escaping his lips.

“There’s no use arguing, is there?”

And that’s how it all became real.

Really fucking tangible.

Not that it wasn’t before, but standing outside the lab’s gates gave you both undeniable evidence of the hell humans had created.

Oh, how good we are at destroying ourselves with our very hands.

You sat in Toby’s wrecked pickup— a black Dodge Ram Lyra had bought from a friend a long time ago. Its windshield was the only thing separating you both from the hell spreading not far away. The lab’s metal door had been destroyed, lying open on the ground with a loud thud. A hoard of those brainless-looking infected slowly crept out, spreading through the entrance yard toward the road outside.

Perfect fucking timing.

Toby’s eyes widened. In a swift motion, he opened the storage compartment in front of you and took out a disposable surgical mask from a box he’d bought— one he’d definitely planned to use way before you’d expected.

The thought made your chest swirl with something dangerously close to hurt. What if you hadn’t been there? What if you hadn’t forced him to bring you along? He would’ve gone alone. He’d done one of his impulsive stunts and risk dying—

But it didn’t happen, right? You were together after all.

That’s all that mattered now.

“Toby! Wait, please—” But it was no use. The wild-haired boy sprinted out of the car, and you simply jolted after him, taking a mask for yourself.

Your steps collided harshly with the semi-wet road as soft rain poured from the sky.

The only gentle thing granted to you in that situation, really.

The hoard of infected moved around without a real destination, spreading around you both.

Toby spotted an old pipe tube, moving to grab the rusty object as he shielded you.

“Don’t g-give me that face,” he said, attempting to tranquilize you.

“I’ve got my t-tetanus vaccine done, or whatever it’s called.”

His attempt at reassurance quickly faded as he shot a glance back at you, his expression turning serious—far more serious than you’d ever seen it.

“Go back inside the car”

“No” If you really wanted to find Lyra, you’d do this together.

“You can be so fucking s-stubborn. And annoying”

Though the infected couldn’t see you clearly, they could still smell you. As you made your way toward the lab, a couple of the creatures lurched toward you, clumsy and unsteady.

Toby swung the pipe, smashing their faces to the ground with natural ease.

Your eyes widened in horror as you looked down at the bodies. The liquid leaking from their tissues was nothing like the vibrant crimson you’d expect from a normal person. Their blood looked far more like something rotten— dark red mixed with an unnameable brown substance, diluted with a thick layer of transparent liquid, similar to raw egg whites.

The sounds those people (if there was still anything human in them, apart from their body) emitted were grotesque, beast-like.

Despite all those disturbing oddities, when the bodies lay limp on the ground, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of guilt. They looked almost peaceful. Almost normal.

Those bodies had once hosted someone’s child, friend, sibling, or lover.

And now they were nothing. Empty. Cold.

“We killed people! Oh! Oh God! We just killed people!”

The admission escaped your lips as Toby frowned at you.

“These are not people anymore,” he said. “They wanted to hurt us. These ‘people’ were l-long gone!”

Seeing your terrified face, Toby’s eyes softened. He quickly gave your arm a reassuring squeeze before turning to smash yet another infected in the head. Some blood droplets flew onto your mask.

“Besides… it’s on me. I’m doing this. You did nothing wrong, okay?” His voice was firm. “But I have to protect us both. I need to protect you”.

You walked through the dilapidated, wrecked halls of the lab, careful with every step you took.

Toby stayed silent, occasionally muttering grunts or frustrated phrases like “Where the hell is she?”

Your progress came to a sudden halt when you arrived in a packed room. A group of infected piled onto one another, stumbling and blocking the way forward.

“Let’s get out of here…” More and more of the contaminated began moving toward you “Before we get surrounded completely.”

Toby swung the pipe left and right, painting the walls with corpses as he carved a path out of the lab.

“Damn it!” he hissed as you finally stepped outside, the infected turning toward you.

He threw the bloodied pipe to the ground and knelt, gripping his messy curls with both hands. His breath came in short, ragged gasps.

“I feel sick. I can’t do this. I can’t do this… fuck. FUCK!”

You knelt beside him, not knowing what to say. What could you say to make this better? Nothing. This was all so vast, so far beyond your control. So fucking terrifying. It was out of your hands.

You knew Toby didn’t like sympathy, so you stayed near him— silent, a steady presence he could grab onto.

“Tobs… we should go,” you said. “Maybe we can come back— ”

The words died in your throat as your gaze fell upon a figure slumped against the metallic fence surrounding the perimeter of the lab.

“Oh my— is that…?”

Toby’s gaze immediately followed yours, and his eyes lit up.

“Lyra!”

He jumped up, running toward her. You followed, retrieving the pipe he’d thrown away.

“Lyra! You’re here! I c-can’t believe— fuck! I can’t believe you’re really here!”

He approached her slowly, crouching beside her.

Lyra’s head lolled to the side, her face half-hidden by overgrown blonde bangs.

“Let’s go back” he spoke rapidly, enthusiastically, pupils dilating like a child who’d finally found his favorite candy “I’ve gathered enough resources for all three of us…”

But when his hand moved to gently caress her cheek and turn her face toward him, all joy died in an instant.

Lyra was pale, scarred, and bloodied. Her eyes were blurry, as if cataracts had clouded them. A string of saliva bubbled from her mouth.

“Lyra? Lyra?!”

Toby’s voice grew urgent, his eyes wide, as the girl stared emptily ahead.

She must’ve still somehow recognized his voice, because she turned to face him.

“To—b…”

Her voice was hoarse, as if pronouncing those three letters was enough to scar her throat.

“Lyra… please! Yes it’s me, Tobs.”

“A…way…”

“Away?” His shaky words were interrupted as Lyra suddenly attacked her brother, pushing him to the ground as she tried to tear off his mask.

Compared to the others who had attacked you earlier, Lyra’s movements were jerkier, almost as if she was hesitant. Like a small part of her consciousness was still there, trying to fight whatever primal force was making her act like a rabid animal.

“Lyra! Please…”

Toby didn’t fight. He simply tried to push her off himself. He didn’t want to hurt Lyra. He did not, couldn’t.

You didn’t want to harm her either. Yet it was as if your body moved on its own. Before your brain could register what was happening, you took the pipe and hit Lyra in the face. Her body rolled off him.

Toby’s eyes were wide as he looked up at you, then back at his sister’s unmoving body.

The pipe fell from your hands.

“I’m… I’m…” You couldn’t even form a coherent sentence before Lyra turned to you. Her face contorted in pain as she grabbed Toby’s leg. Her mouth opened monstrously as she darted forward, ready to bite his lower limb.

Your heart raced, ready to scream— before Toby moved. He grabbed the pipe discarded beside him and reflexively hit her in the head again.

The usual rotting liquid began leaking from the wound. Blonde hair stained scarlet as she stopped moving completely.

Toby quickly got up, panting, and threw the metallic tube as if it burned him.

You both stared at her for seconds that felt like an eternity, assessing her final, utter stillness.

He didn’t say a word. Instead, he picked up Lyra’s body and headed toward the old pickup.

Lyra was laid in the backseat. Looking at her like that, she seemed calm— like she’d just gotten off a tiresome shift and was taking a nap. She looked as if she could wake up at any moment, laughing and telling you about some new experiment or how annoying a colleague had been all day.

You turned back to face the road ahead, leaving her image in the fantasy you’d built. It was better to keep it that way.

The drive was quiet. You didn’t even ask Toby where he was going.

It sure wasn’t either of your houses.

He’d gone in the opposite direction.

He parked the pickup outside a big lake on the outskirts of the city, near the main highway leading to its center.

“Lyra loved it here” he said, breaking the silence “It’s better to do this now, while it’s still peaceful. It seems we don’t have long left”

He took Lyra’s body in his arms. The two of you walked to sit at the edge of the lake.

“This is so unfair” Toby’s eyes were hollow as he looked at the sun sparkling on the water.

“She was the kindest, most selfless person I know. She always tried to fix things for everyone, to help others…” His voice cracked “You see, even when Dad got mad at us when we were younger, she’d stand up for me. Shield me from his shit. Sing lullabies as she slept next to me, holding my hands, making it all seem like a game, distant”.

You stayed silent, feeling hopeless. Uncomfortable, even. Maybe it should’ve been you. You wished you could’ve swapped places with Lyra.

“She used to do this particular… game. Can I even say that?” Toby chuckled at himself, lost deep in the memory “Whenever Dad drank too much and started chasing me to hit me with his belt, she’d take my hand and run with me. So fast! She’d found this spot next to Mom’s old wardrobe— actually it was inside, I think. Inside the wardrobe, there was this secret space Mom used for the few jewels she’d left, since dad’s greedy ass took everything. Lyra used to hide me there”

“‘Shhh! This is a hide-and-seek, super hard game! Stay hidden so you can win, yeah?’” Toby mimicked her voice, going a pitch higher “‘Dad’s playing like the bad monster, and if you win as a knight, he’s gonna take us to the park and buy lots of ice cream!’”

He wiped his face, chuckling despite everything.

“She’d wink and close the wardrobe door, and I’d stay there ‘til she came back to free me— all beaten up, while Dad collapsed on the couch. If i believed in it i’d have sworn she was my guardian angel, y/n”

Toby turned to face you, his eyes clouded by a sheen of tears. Ever since you’d met him in one of your classes, you’d never seen him cry.

You didn’t know how to react. The whole situation felt almost uncomfortable. You took his face and buried it in your chest.

“I’m so incredibly sorry, baby. I’m so, so fucking sorry.”

You helped him give Lyra a burial as proper as you could.

Except it wasn’t an actual burial. You let her body sink down, slowly, to the floor of the lake she’d loved so much.

Seeing her disappear completely, Toby cried for hours. You didn’t know how long, but it was enough for his eyes to redden, the skin inflamed, and your shirt to be soaked where he’d pressed his face.

“She was smart” you added cautiously, wanting to say something good but avoid upsetting him further “And she died serving her purpose— to help others. Plus… she recognized you, Tobs. I think she tried really hard not to hurt you.”

He nodded against your chest, holding onto your arms like a lifeline.

“In a way…” You hesitated, then continued “At least she died close to you. Before she could fully become one of those things…”

Your words must've stung a nerve in him as he suddenly pushed away from you, frowning. He dried his eyes, his demeanor shifting completely as he stood up.

“We– we should go.”

Did you mess up? Had you said anything wrong?

Shame rose like a violent wave of blood to your head as you made your way back into the pickup.

The drive was once again silent. A different kind of quiet, though.

You wanted to ask if you’d upset him. Ask if he was angry at you. It was already too much. You couldn’t have him turn on you.

You were all he had, too, anyway. He couldn’t be angry, could he?

You both went back to his apartment.

“Start packing,” he said “We’re getting out of here.”

“Out of your house?”

“Out of the city” His breath came ragged as he resumed speaking. “Those—” He paused, massaging his temples before continuing, as if elaborating whatever he meant to say physically strained him “Those things spread all over the lab. I’m sure the virus is already in the air as we speak”.

“But— ”

“No” His voice was firm “Please. Lyra’s— it was enough. I don’t want to risk it. I can’t” He sounded jaded as he took off his mask.

You copied him, forgetting you still had the fabric tissue on in the first place.

“Just listen to me, damnit. Don't make this even more difficult than it is. Please”.

He sighed loudly before speaking again.

“We’ll go tomorrow, yeah? Leave the city. Just you and me. Be safe a state away or two. Maybe even flee the country”.

He reached out to hold your hand, fingers intertwining as you nodded.

Tomorrow? Okay. Yeah.

It was enough time to take your things and pack everything into two camping backpacks Toby had bought an undefined amount of time before.

It seemed to fit, all of it working so well. Yet, as you drove past the desert streets the next day— tires screeching against the asphalt between concrete blocks— big military trucks appeared, blocking your way.

“Halt! Where are you going?”

“We got— we gotta reach some family out of the city, sir.” Toby lied.

“Too bad the city’s blocked, young man. It’s an order from the Department of Public Safety. You’re gonna have to go back home.”

The man looked straight at Toby over his mask, tightening his grip on the rifle just enough to suggest obedience.

“Y-you can’t be for real–”

But there was no use resisting.

You squeezed Toby’s arm, nodding to the officer and begging him to turn around and drive back. It would’ve been ironic to die with a bullet between your eyes after the shit you’d been through already, wouldn't it?

That’s how the two of you had gotten into literal, fucking hell.

151 days of finding shelter. Trying to ration food to save enough and avoid risking your lives twice a week, hoping for a can of stale beans and some hot water.

The containment had failed; ‘Surprisingly enough’ you could feel Toby’s voice play in your head, sarcastic and bitter.

The virus had spread fast. People had been taken by surprise, understandably unprepared for such a disaster.

Nor were the police or your local doctors.

Hopping from shelter to shelter, you’d now stabilized in a small treehouse at the back of some abandoned house on the outskirts for quite some time— probably a few weeks, though it was hard to tell. Every day was the same, and time was a luxury you couldn’t afford.

You’d traded Toby’s car for bandages, a few bottles of clean water and bread a few weeks prior. The new, insane gas prices in your city made it pointless to keep it anyway. Better to make profit off what you had.

Toby took the ladder away, ensuring no one could enter your hideout. You laid down on an old mattress.

It was cold. Yet you had to take it. You couldn’t risk dying by lighting a fire on the wooden floor of the house.

There were so many incredibly weird ways you could die, more than you’d ever cared to think of.

Toby took an old wool scarf and hung it around you.

“I know it’s cold.”

“It doesn’t matter” you said. “I know it’s a sacrifice for our safety, being up here.”

“Yeah.”

He observed you, his gaze slithering over your form. You felt pathetic— small, cradled in the scarf’s softness, seemingly ridiculously helpless and weak.

Yeah, it had really taken a toll on you. The whole situation.

You’d done everything for those weeks alongside Toby to stay alive, to keep going. Yet you had gotten to a point you felt exhausted. Completely drained.

You felt selfish. The world was going to hell, and you were there worrying about your stupid brain, playing tricks that made you sad? And you had the guts to complain.

How could you?

You were already burdening Toby, you were sure. He’d have been way better off without you.

“You should leave me here.”

The words escaped your lips before you could even realize what you were saying.

“What?”

“You should… leave me here” You spoke again, suddenly unsure, as if you’d reconsidered stepping back from the massive bomb you’d just dropped.

“The hell are you s-saying, all of a sudden?”

“I’m saying I’m burdening you.”

Paraphrasing wouldn’t make it sound less idiotic. But there was no point in talking useless crap at this point. It wouldn’t serve either of you.

“Oh my fucking— did you manage to find a way to get high or drunk behind my back?” He spat out, mocking.

“We’ve been going for how long? Three months? It’s already been far too long. I can’t— I can’t do this anymore. I’m just so tired, Tobs. What’s the point?”

“You can’t be serious!” His voice strained, raspy like a rake scraping up and down his larynx “After all the shit we’ve been through— fuck you!— you’re just going to give up on me?”

“It’s not what I meant.” You sunk deeper into the woolen embrace, closing your eyes as if, just by hoping hard enough, you could disappear into a void of nothingness and sleep— hibernating forever.

“No?” His voice came out strained “‘Cause it fucking seems like that to me.”

He got up, pacing back and forth in the tiny space of your shelter. He massaged his right temple, then tightened his fists at his sides.

“Just— why? Is it something I did? Something I made you think?— what, whatever that is, I promise we— I can fix it.”

“It’s not…” You felt physically drained again just pronouncing those few words.

His voice overpowered yours.

“— you just gotta talk to me, though! I can’t— can’t do it alone, and I can’t read your mind. So just please, don’t shut me out!”

“I said, it’s none of that!” You pushed out all the strength you had left to raise your voice, snapping him out of his self-destructive spiral of misery.

You pushed yourself up, closing the distance between you both. You caressed his cheek, your thumb tracing circles over his cheekbone.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry… It's just a stupid thought circling in my head. I think I’m just scared, really.”

Hearing your own words echo like that made you cringe in embarrassment. You tensed up.

“Scared?” He frowned, his hand moving to rest on your wrist as he felt you tense. He caged you in place.

“That you’ll eventually find out how useless and burdensome I am. That you’ll get tired of me, and it’ll suck. That you’ll leave me behind, and I’ll be a mess.” You sighed, your breath coming short at your own words, all spat out in a rush. “I’d rather prevent that. Warn you beforehand to make this easier for the both of us.”

“You’re fucking delusional if you think any of that is ever going to happen” he said. “You have great creativity, though. I’ll give you that.”

He then began laughing— simply that, laughing as if he hadn’t in months.

A thick, guttural guffaw erupted from deep in his chest.

That echoing sound quickly twisted into something different— more desperate, something bordering on a gasp, a breathless choking.

“You’re ridiculous” Another gasp of air, a hiccup, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably “You’re fucking ridiculous!”

His gaze rose again, fixing on you. Wide, shaky pupils pierced into you.

“What the fuck— what the fuck are you saying? Do you— shit! Do you hear yourself?”

You stayed silent, avoiding the judgment looming in his gaze.

“You’re all I have! How can you be so fucking— so fucking clueless and— ”

His hiccups grew violent. He tried to sink into himself, to grow smaller, holding himself between his arms.

He hissed, pained, biting his tongue from saying something mean and dumb, curling his fingers in two tight fists.

“You’re all I have left in this— this fucked-up world. Why would I ever leave you?” His voice cracked on the last syllables, his face scrunching up.

The strange cadence of his tone forced your gaze back to him.

“I don’t— I wouldn’t have any reason to do this at all. Not one reason if it wasn’t for you. You are all I have, and— ”

He angrily wiped away unruly tears steaming down his cheeks.

Oh, this was fucking embarrassing.

“I just—” His voice wavered “The need to keep you safe and secure is all I’m doing this for. Really. If it wasn’t for you, I’d have blown my brains out the moment Lyra died. I miss her so much, y/n”.

His face twisted, contracting in a snarl as an intrusive, unwanted memory clawed its way back into his mind.

“I miss her so much. Every day. Every fucking morning, I wake up, and the realization she’s gone forever strikes me. I just— I won’t ever get used to it. It’s like renewing the pain of that day she died, over and over.”

Another crack in his voice. All the tension in his face finally released as he looked at you, as if he’d just regained some sort of awareness of the reality around him.

“But then… there’s you” His breath hitched “You keep me anchored, and the idea of losing you too is simply… fucking unbearable. Actually, it’s not a p-possibility at all.”

You’d never seen Toby like this: exposed, fragile, like a little kid. It made your heart contract painfully into a pulp.

Even after Lyra died, he’d sucked it up, having it all together. He seemed like the one strong enough to keep going, figuring it all out. Life had always been unfair to him, ever since he was a kid; When you’re doomed to suffer, all you can do is learn to stand up and kick that bitch back.

But now something had changed– your words had snapped the one fragile sting keeping all his pieces together. It was like all the shit he’d bottled up— all the things he’d tried to suffocate— were resurfacing, violent and terribly frightening.

“I can’t— I can’t go on. I could never go on if you left me— ” His breath was ragged as bitten-down hands came to lace his fingers with yours.

“I won’t. I’m sorry”.

“Promise?” His voice cracked. “I swear to God, if you leave, I— I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll do something a-and i just know, i know it will be bad”.

“I won’t. I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to upset you like this”.

You moved, sitting down with him so he could rest his head on your lap.

You moved the scarf enough to cover you both.

“I love you. I won’t leave. Okay?” You stroked his hair gently “That was just my stupid, useless thoughts. I thought I’d do you a favor by getting out of the way.”

Antonio had definitely not been a prude during his life, nor one to get easily embarrassed or ashamed of himself in any way. Not necessarily as a show-off— more so, he simply didn’t particularly care.

Even after so long, his soul having been almost fully taken over by the demon he had sacrificed it to in one last attempt to finally achieve that level of satisfaction in music he had always craved, yet somehow struggled to reach— he did not have the right mind, nor the ability, to pay enough attention to such trivial things.

He managed to get what he wanted, when he wanted, always- one way or another. Putting the notes that resonated in his mind onto paper was all that mattered anyway. Plus, he was way too old— he could not waste any more time on silly, futile matters. Nothing impressed him anymore; Nothing could move him enough to change the way he was, too strongly rooted in his dense brain. Plus, caring about his appearance wouldn’t have changed his way of doing music, so he truly did not need to spend energies on that.

Well, almost nothing— until you came along.

Like a tornado, you short-circuited all the wires within his head, making him act like a stupid fool. You were pretty, too pretty. Radiant, kind— everything he was not.

He tried many times to figure out what you saw in him, why you would ever want to be with someone like him in the first place- yet all those questions seemed to remain unanswered. He just could not understand why.

Why?

He had never been one to feel self-conscious, yet you made him so.

Of course, that was not intentional.

He knew he looked weird, to say the least: those long, ragged scars all across his face; The void of his eyes; His hair. Not a conventionally attractive man, one could say. No longer a man at all.

How ridiculous is it to worry about your appearance when you are inhabited by a demon?

Yet there you were, standing in his bedroom to change for the night, and he could not peel his eyes off you. Fabric slid over your body, and he could almost feel it on his own skin— a shiver.

It was ridiculous, feeling all anxious when he was the one inviting you over in the first place.

You turned to face him, walking over to him.

“Thanks again for letting me spend the night here. I’m actually kinda nervous—... hey, are you okay?”

“Yes, I am. Don’t worry, darling”

“Are you sure? Also, aren’t you going to change?”

You had barely finished speaking before he dragged you down to him, winding your body in his hair.

“I’m good like this”.

“Oh, you can’t be serious! Come on!”

You tried to break free and help him take his shirt off, but another strand of hair came to stop your hands.

“Hey!”

He laughed.

“You can’t be serious. Your clothes are dirty!”

“They seem quite clean to me, dear”.

“I’m not going to sleep in a dirty bed”.

“Oh, blackmailing me now?”

He let go of you, sat on the edge of the bed, and kept laughing to himself— something like a tired giggle— as he swept a hand down his face.

“Come on,” you said again, leaning over his shoulder.

“I am not sure about that, sweetheart”.

“Why not? Is there a problem?”

“Yeah, there is”.

You frowned, confused, as a million possibilities flashed through your mind.

“Is it me?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it, sweetheart”.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“You have that smart brain of yours. You already know...”

“It’s clear I don’t. Enlighten me.”

He let out a small grunt, bony thumb hovering over your right cheek.

“Oh, you are evil, wanting to make me admit it out loud. It’s silly”.

He took one of your hands and moved it under his shirt. Your fingers traced along his skin, feeling all the bumps and rough edges of his scars. His hardened, scaly torso.

“Do you get it now? Don’t act clueless”.

“Is it because of your scars?...”

“Mm. See? Told you you’ve got a sharp mind.”

You sighed, your hand still resting on his abdomen.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured into doing anything you’re not comfortable with... but I don’t get it”.

“What is it that you don’t understand?”

“Do you think it bothers me? Like, the fact that you have scars? Do you think it’s an issue? Because I guarantee, it’s not.”

“I just feel... embarrassed, my dear. Ah! For the first time in so long. I’m just not fit for you, and I thought you might finally understand that as well once you saw me all bare and exposed. I can no longer pretend if you take all my defenses away”.

“Oh, Antonio... this is so silly. None of that is going to happen. Of course I’m going to stay. You could be invisible or— I don’t know— not have a body at all, for all I care. I love you for you”.

Your hand slid out from under his shirt, coming up to trace his jawline.

“Ah, you’re just too used to having me around”.

“Yeah, probably. But I wouldn’t want it any other way”.

You crawled on top of him, kissing his jaw all the way up to the corner of his lips.

“My beautiful man...”

One hand kept tracing his skin, the path of one particularly deep scar that connected to his collarbone.

“So handsome”.

“Oh, come on. With all the talking, you’re playing dirty”.

“Perhaps. But I really need to get it into that thick brain of yours that you are fucking perfect, get it?”

🪦Andrew
Having been ostracized, made fun of, and rejected his entire life, it’s natural for the idea of being completely unlikable to be deeply rooted inside him.
I mean, look at it— nobody had ever been nice, nobody had ever even made the attempt to spare a word of kindness toward him. And if everyone did so, if that had been a recurring topos of his life, then maybe, just maybe, there had to be a reason, no?
His mom had been an exception, that was true, yet everyone said it: it did not count. Mothers somehow always love their children, have to— how heartbreaking would it be to admit you’ve failed, spent nine agonizing months just for it to turn out to be a deluding, utter mess? A misplaced pulp of eyes and hair, all discolored, weird-looking.
No, even a roach’s mother drowns its kids in praise and appreciation.
But when you came along, oh, it seemed like all those worries could finally be silenced.

He’d be definitely shy at first, to have you see his body in any way. Not just necessarily naked, even mere glimpses here and there would be enough to make him dismiss you, tell you he remembered he had something to do, somewhere to go.

There was one time, after a particularly intense work day, when Andrew had come back completely wrecked.
He was all sunburnt on his face and scalp, as you tried to put some ice and hydrating cream over the reddened, scorching skin.
As if it wasn’t enough, he’d well thought to put short sleeves on that day; It was a hot mid-spring day after all— a cloudy one at that too. Of course, how could he not have thought sun rays could still be unkind even when not so visible?
You moved to treat his burnt arms.

“Uh, can you take your shirt off? I need to see if there’s more under there”.

Andrew’s expression turned uncomfortable, fidgeting with his hands as he slowly swayed away from his position beside you on the bed.

“Uh— I just remembered I have to go!.. I’ve been asked to—”

“Nuh uh, not this time”.

You took his hand, crumbling whichever resolve he’d planned on using to flee the situation.

“I just don’t understand why you’re always trying to run, whenever we get to this point!”

“I am not…”

“Yes, you are! And it’s confusing! I mean, we’ve been together for so long now… am I the problem? Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No, no, that’s not the issue!” He held his palm up, as if to signal you to stop dwelling in whatever thoughts were beginning to form in your mind, before sighing, pale eyelashes fluttering closed for a minute too long before fluttering open again. Shaky, faint irises looked at you, brows furrowed as if he was suddenly connecting the dots, offended by the mere suggestion of you being the problem.
“It’s me— I’m just… grotesque”.

“What?”

You scoffed, as if he’d said the stupidest thing in the world.

“I’m objectively gross, a monster— I am weird. It’s something I’ve come to make amends with, but…” he gestured nervously with his hands on his lap “it’s something I thought was just part of me by now… but then you came in my life and it just— it messed with my brain, I suppose?”

“What are you even saying?”

“I don’t want you to see me— the complete me. You’d be disgusted and run away— ”

“No, it’s— I don’t understand why you would ever say something like that, Andrew.”

His gaze, roaming and trying to avoid your eyes as much as he could, finally trailed back to you, confused.

“I like you, ‘Drew. Any part of you, and I could show you if you let me”.

“But you’ve yet to see me, you cannot be so sure.”

His stubbornness had you roll your eyes, taking his hands in yours.
Your thumb traced his wrist, soothing motions that sent a shiver down his spine.

“You are the prettiest person I’ve ever seen in my life, really. I don’t care who made you feel less than that, but it does not matter now.”

It’d definitely take a while, and more than a little sweet talking, but then he’d finally give up.
Reluctantly taking his shirt off as he finally revealed himself to your watchful gaze.

His pale, ivory white skin, scarred here and there, faint bruises from whatever recent incident at work.
Your hand moved to caress his cheek, then traced down; His neck, then all the way to the sides of his torso. He was quite tall, and lean for that— yet you could see the outline of muscles on his arms, a bit on his shoulders and abdomen as well. All those marks and signs told his story— wounds from past years, when he was kicked and beaten by other kids after his mother had died, too weak to defend himself. The muscles he’d naturally grown out of years of work holding the shovel and scooping dirt in and out for graves.

“I really don’t get it”.

“What don’t you get?”

“How you could ever be insecure… might be biased ’cause I love you, yes, but even that aside… you’re perfectly normal”.

He played with his hands again, nervousness and embarrassment forming an explosive, dangerous mix.

You kissed his cheek, both hands now pressed firmly on his chest.

“Actually, if I have to be completely honest you might be even more than simply normal…you’re perfect”.

“You’ve said it yourself, you’re biased”.

You couldn’t help but giggle, and he smiled. How he loved that sweet sound.

“True, but I really can’t grasp how I got so lucky, y’know?”

A small hiss escaped from his lips as you bit down his neck.

“I love whenever you hug me and your hair start to tickle me, making me all giggly like and idiot…” you buried your face in his neck.

“I love your eyes, the way they crease at the sides just slightly whenever you come back and see I’m already home. Your scent, I could recognize anywhere. Your chest, your arms, your hands…”

You closed your eyes, circling him with your arms.

“Glad to see you’re not burned on the rest of your body, though. Would have ruined this beautiful vision, mh?”.

🎭Weeping Clown
Weepy had always been an impulsive person, in a way; The fact he burned down the entirety of Hullabaloo after his little ‘incident’ was just the epitome of that.
However, actions have consequences, especially bad ones.
Who would know better than him?

His rage on the circus had meant to be revenge for what he’d been through, how half his face (and career) had been compromised forever by Sergi’s blind cruelty. Yet he’d paid for that impulsivity quite dearly, as seen in the way he’d found himself after the explosion.
He was sloppy, messy, not careful enough. One detonation after the other— one explosive had gone off on him, and even though he was lucky enough not to lose his hand, it had left mean, dark scars all over his right arm, his abdomen, some torn tissue on his sane leg as well.

He’d escaped, tried to rebuild a life far away from that massacre, to keep it behind him. Yet every time he walked down the street someone turned their head to stare, whispering about him— he was sure. Every time he caught a glimpse of himself in whatever reflective surface, he felt a sense of disgust so deep his stomach churned and twisted into knots to the point he needed to throw up.

His body was a shapeless mass, assembled in a moment in which God— or whatever deity had decided it was a good idea to create him— had clearly run out of pieces. Here a bit of what remains, there some other rejects. He was like a broken engine, useless and ugly.

Partially, that rejection of himself also came from a strange sense of shame. Not quite guilt, but a constant fear someone would come to him one day and make him face what he’d really done.
Living in fear and despair. Oh, why didn’t he die as well that day?

But then, one day, he’d met you. You— oh, perfect you!
You who did not judge him, who saw past him, past his ugly face and dirty mind. You were like a cure, the antidote to his misery.

Of course, the hatred he harbored toward himself was something he couldn’t hide from you, something you’d well taken notice of since the first day you met him.
And you tried, kept trying to make his esteem a bit better. He was somewhat decent with makeup, and liked to share what he’d learned in the circus with you. Dressing up in silly ways, putting on weird looks.
You liked it too, and so helped him with it.

Makeup made him feel better, especially when it was bold and theatrical— it was like hiding behind a mask, though it made him confident, so it was a good compromise.

“Hey, since you like putting on all those crazy colors on your face, can I full-body paint you?” you’d suggested one evening.
“Y’know, kinda like they do in cosplays and stuff…”

He tensed as you finished painting his face white.

“Uh, I’m not sure it’s a good idea”.

“Why?”

“It’s just not” He scoffed, gesturing dismissively.

“Are you afraid?”

“What— ”

“Are you uncomfortable to— you know, take your shirt off?”

Your straightforwardness had surely not been something he’d expected. He tried to keep his voice steady, yet the borderline terror in it was unmistakable.

“What— no, it’s just not the time—”

“You can be honest with me. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel bad or— ”

“No, no, no! No, it’s completely wrong” His voice broke a pitch higher “You have done nothing wrong. Nothing. You’ve helped me a lot ever since I met you, it’s just…” He looked down at himself, as if trying to X-ray through the fabric of his clothes. He could already imagine it— your expression of horror when you finally saw him, the naked, real him.
“I have been in an incident— I’ve told you, haven’t I? The same one that gave me this…” he gestured vaguely at the scar on the left side of his face.
“It’s bad… spread across my body as well. It’s not a cute sight, dear.”

“Do you think I care?”

He looked confused. He tried to reply, but you were quick to resume talking.

“Do you think I care that you have more scars? You really think I’m gonna— what, run away for that?”

“It’s not just— it’s… gross. Real gross stuff. I don’t— don’t want you to think differently of me.”

You rubbed your temples.

“You really think so lowly of me?”

“It’s not what I meant!” His eyes widened. The last thing he wanted was to upset you.
“It’s just… really worse than anything you can imagine. You’re going to leave after you see it. You’re going to leave and— and see that I’m really just a rotten monster, after all…”

“Hey, calm down” You pressed a small kiss to the tip of his nose.
“Nothing of the nonsense you’re saying will ever happen… let’s make a deal, okay?”

He looked at you, silent acceptance as you spoke again.

“I’ve not lived the situations you have, but if you show me your scars, I’ll show you the worst I have. What do you think?”

“But it’s not— ”

“All the things I am insecure about! Really, it’s going to be like a secret we only know about.”

“… ”

You caressed his hair as he leaned into your touch.

“Please, just promise you’re not going to be disgusted”.

“I am not, pinky promise”.

He nodded, and finally showed you everything underneath his upper garments, sliding his scarf off as well.
His body was lanky, bones peeking out of the thin layers of skin as he crossed his arms over his chest, as if trying to cover as much as possible. You could see burn scars littering sparse across his tissues.

He stood up in an unexpected jump, the entire situation suddenly feeling all too intense and unbearable.

“Happy now?”

You did not speak, simply followed him up.
You went behind him, turning him to face a wall mirror hung up in your room as you held him, kissing the side of his neck.

“See?”

He forced his eyes shut.

“Come on, open your eyes real quick.”

“I can’t— I can’t—”

“Hey…”

He gasped, finally forcing his eyes wide open as he stared back at the image ahead of him.

His breath was heavy, liked he’d just emerged back up after sinking down, almost drowning.

“It’s so disgusting” his voice came out shaky, as if he was trying his hardest not to cry.

“It’s not”.

“It is!”

You kissed his neck again, then lifted your own shirt.

You pointed somewhere near your ribcage. “See? I’ve got a scar here. Looks similar to yours, doesn’t it? It’s such a silly story, too…”

Then another point somewhere on your skin.
And another.

Each time, you caressed the corners of his scars, fingers tracing the skin gently, leaning in to kiss him.

You made sure to imprint those moments well in his brain so every time he’d ever see those scars again, feel them under his touch, he’d feel the ghosts of your kisses to make it all sweeter.

Your words were soothing, more so your presence there, secure behind him.
You were not leaving after seeing him.

No.

He relaxed into your touch.

He was kind, gentle, and always tried his best— so why couldn’t he be loved like anyone else?

Andrew needed faith to believe destiny wasn’t completely in his clumsy, incapable hands.

He was unreliable and cursed, a complete mess— he’d known it for a long time. Maybe those people in the village were right. Maybe he was Satan’s spawn.

He’d tried to repent, to devote his life to God. What else could he be, if not a tool for Him?

He’d been a good Christian, a vessel— like all humans are supposed to be, after all. Serving the purpose of the divine as a ‘thank you’ for the gift of life.

Deep down, he convinced himself that martyrdom would’ve been worth it in the end.

The more you suffer during life— a formality, a physical stage to reach heaven— the more one is destined for something greater waiting beyond.

He wore the product of his suffering with pride— every scar, every bruise like a symbol, a reminder to just hold on a little longer before reaching up, up—

He woke up panting again.

A shadow moved in his peripheral vision. Was it you? It couldn’t be. You were usually asleep by then.

The clock ticked— steady, petulant.

3:30.

What a dreadful hour to wake.

It had started happening often, waking in the middle of the night like this. When was the last time he’d had decent sleep?

His cold fingers rose to trace the deepening shadows beneath his pale eyes.

It made him shiver with a certain satisfaction.

He was undeserving of rest. Of comfort. More servitude.

Vessel, vessel, vessel—

No time for peace.

And yet… how inconsistent everything had become when he met you.

He was filthy that day— mud caked across his face and hands, curled in a small cemetery alcove after a long day of digging graves.

You walked in.

Visiting someone, he assumed.

You looked too bright— too heavenly to be human. He had never seen someone like you.

Still, it didn’t feel strange to see you there. Somehow, it fitted just right.

What better place for angels to wander than where life and death meet?

He watched you stand before a couple of graves as you passed by, reading the names of strangers— old ghosts long forgotten.

It was rare, to see someone pay respect to those they didn’t know. Humanity had seemed to decay so much as of lately.

How gracious, he’d thought.

He followed at a distance, just enough to see you kneel at another grave and pray.

For someone you knew?

Or perhaps blessing a stranger?

If so, then you truly had to be something otherworldly.

He began seeing you often after that. Maybe you’d always been there, and he just started to notice.

In his selfishness, he had prayed— again and again— for something good. Anything. Just once.

After his final Hail Mary each night, arms wrapped around himself, he’d whisper:

Please. Just this once.

And then— you came.

A sign.

A gift.

Something he could not afford to waste.

The first time he spoke to you, it was simple.

“Is everything alright? I see you here often…”

And then came the pansies.

A small bouquet— purple, vivid. The flower of thought. Given to friends… or perhaps what we call lovers.

Seeing you became the sweetest part of his days.

You laughed at his clumsy words.

Brought him slices— sometimes entire halves— of new recipes you tried.

‘You thought of me?’

You even offered to help with his work.

He always insisted you didn’t need to dirty your hands— that your presence alone was enough.

But you were stubborn.

Impossible to dissuade.

And he liked that.

It meant you weren’t acting out of pity. You were sincere— more than anyone he had ever known in his lonely, miserable life.

He promised God he would remain loyal.

That the small crush growing inside him would not distract him from his duties.

He needed that reassurance.

He could not risk God’s anger— not now, not when he had finally found something good.

But still, a part of him felt uneasy.

He was kind, gentle, and always tried his best.

Yet he could not be loved like anyone else.

He never told you how he truly felt.

He didn’t need to.

What you had was special. Pure. Deep.

A soul bond.

It had to be.

Why else would someone like you keep spending time with someone like him?

It was fate. Something natural. Inevitable.

He had been doomed from the very first glance.

Perhaps you were never a blessing.

Perhaps you were a curse.

Disrupting his carefully crafted peace. His fragile, obedient path.

You stood into his humble shack.

Wood creaked as you sat in the rocking chair, staring out into the foggy December night.

He prepared your favorite dish— spent nearly everything on the finest meat he could find.

You didn’t touch it.

Didn’t even look at him.

That wasn’t fair.

He knew he couldn’t offer much— but he was devoted. Entirely yours.

Wasn’t that enough?

Clearly not.

He had seen you.

One day— outside the cemetery gates— walking beside another man.

Laughing playfully.

His hands wrapped around your arms.

His heart stopped.

The shovel trembled in his grip.

The next time he saw you, he made a mistake.

“Who was it?”

“What?”

“I saw you. With a gentleman.”

“I don’t— this is— “

“Do you not like me?”

“It’s not that— ”

“You don’t like me! Why? Am I not good enough? I can be! I’ve seen how people treat those they love, like trash! Can’t appreciate such fortune— I give everything, body and soul, and you just disregard it!”

“You need to calm down—”

“No”.

His face twisted— red, contorted into something unrecognizable.

His eyes darted wildly, replaying the scene again and again.

Proof.

Betrayal.

Deception.

You had tricked him.

Of course you had.

The devil never appears ugly.

No— he appears beautiful. Trustworthy. Gentle.

He earns your trust… and leads you to sin.

Even Lucifer was a beautiful angel once.

Andrew staggered back, horror overtaking his expression.

“You were sent as a test, weren’t you?” he whispered. “I know it. You’re a demon— a hellspawn. Sent to drag my soul into your inferno”.

“You’re speaking nonsense…” you stepped closer, careful. “Please. Let’s talk—”

There was no going back.

Your image warped in his mind— stained, smeared, unrecognizable.

Who had you ever been?

Something snapped.

Clean. Final. Irreversible.

“Stay away! I renounce the lie that Satan controls my life. God is in control!”

You stepped closer. That entire situation looked absurd.

“Stay away!”

“Stop—”

He caressed your head.

Your hair was tangled.

That was unfortunate.

“I’ll help you, dear. You must be tired…”

He carried you to his bed. Mattress creaking under your weight as he sat beside you.

Boney fingers combed through your hair.

The argument must have upset you, you’d been cold ever since.

You needed time.

That was fine.

He could wait.

Forever, if needed.

“I know you’re still angry…” he murmured, shame threading through every word.

“I was a fool. Accusing you… I hope you can forgive me, my dear”.

He rested his head on your lap, holding your cold hands.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you…”

He looked up at you, lashes fluttering.

“You’re everything to me”.

He sat up again and kissed you.

Soft, chaste- at the right corner of your lips.

Don’t get him wrong: ever since the first moment he’d spoken with you, you’d put such weird ideas in his mind…things he’d never thought before! Impure, yet they made his heart flutter each time he pictured you so close, on top of him, straddling his lap and making him cry and beg like a pathetic dog.

But that had to wait, would’ve been a seal for your union the day he gained enough money to buy the best ring he could find. For now, he’d just please you differently— when you took baths together, hands trailing down, feather light touch.

You were always so timid, never showing him too much of what you were feeling. You did not want to make him feel pressed to please you, thought you were burdensome— but it was so silly. Of course he did not mind!

The greatest joy for him was to seeing you content and satisfied.

It always felt wrong, whenever he did. But as long as you were happy, maybe God would’ve understood, too.

He prayed to repent, whispering forgiveness for sins, actions that could not be undone. He tried to pray far from your watchful gaze.

You’d probably thought he was praying because he found you revolting, but that couldn’t be further from the truth! He prayed for himself.

He would wait.

For the day he could buy you a ring.

For the day everything would be right again.

Until then, he would care for you.

Provide.

Repent.

Pray.

It became routine.

Eating.

Bathing.

Sleeping.

Working.

Returning to you.

Holding you through the night.

“I’m going to get more ice for the cooler, okay?” he whispered, nestling you gently into a finely crafted casket he’d stolen from an empty slot at the cemetery.

“Can’t let you rot on me.”

He smiled softly.

“I’ll be back soon, darling. Wait for me.”

Your empty eyes stared ahead.

But he swore he could see a smile.

Faint.

Just for him.